


Homecoming

by somegunemojis



Series: Tender Mercies [8]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Reunion, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:15:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somegunemojis/pseuds/somegunemojis
Summary: He only feels like he's a million feet tall when he's around her.
Relationships: Bettino Tahan/Alia DiMarco
Series: Tender Mercies [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893175





	Homecoming

June, 2006 -- Napoli, Italia

The flight to Naples lasts a goddamn eternity. 

Well-- it starts with the airbase outside of Kabul, to Tripoli, to Berlin, to Naples. The C-27J that takes him to Tripoli is only a third full, twenty or so men scattered among the seats, some in groups and some split off from the rest. He sits by himself, with a book he can’t recall the name of that he never even tries to crack open. The damn plane rattles so badly that his teeth hurt and his fingers ache from how tightly he’d clenched his jaw, and the way he’d held onto the bottom of his seat like he was afraid if he let go he would fall out of the back of the thing. From Tripoli, he catches a ride into Europe on a C-160, and spends the flight playing charades when the German troops on board realize he hardly speaks a word of German and even less English, and decide that then is a good time to try and make deep conversation about life, death, sex and what may possibly have been where to get the best cocaine in Munich, though he couldn't be sure. A good time is had by all, but he’s glad to make it back to the ground without incident. From there, he flies commercial. The shortest leg of his trip so far, but he’s so close to his destination that he can’t stop fidgeting in the cramped Airbus seat. The Frenchwoman next to him weeps when she watches Blood Diamond, and he tries to keep his eyes fixed to the window. 

Every time his eyes flick to her screen, he can hardly keep himself from flinching at the blood and the muzzle flashes on the screen. She isn't trying to be quiet.

They de-plane without incident. His massive duffle bag wasn’t lost, and when he meanders out of the baggage area his eyes are on his phone, flicking through his contacts to find her number to let her know he’d landed safely. Bettino just happens to glance up, and he sees her standing there next to her ugly as sin 1994 Fiat Uno, arms crossed, grinning from ear to ear. 

He hasn’t seen her face in six months-- the realization strikes him like a physical blow to the gut. The phone gets snapped closed and slipped into his pocket, and he steps forward, his own face lighting up. Her golden hair catches the warm setting sun and the flyaways are dyed in shades of pink, orange, purple. Rosy cheeks, soft fuschia mouth, and when she uncrosses her arms he can see she’s wearing one of his shirts. Bettino practically runs to her then, the smile splitting his face to match her own, a wild bark of laughter pouring out of him when he drops his bag and lifts her with an arm around her waist, and he spins her, and he kisses her and he kisses her. He kisses her until they are both breathless, and laughing, and he kisses her some more, until the airport police officer starts to eye them like he’s thinking about coming to talk to them, and then Bettino sets her down and cups her cheeks and kisses her one more time-- one more time on the mouth, one more time on the nose, and on each eyelid. 

Alia DiMarco is radiant in the hot summer afternoon, her hair pulled back off her neck and swept by the breeze coming in from the sea. She’s laughing, pulling him closer to the car, and he reaches down to pick up his bag and follows her, throwing it in the back and then climbing into the passenger seat. The windows are already cranked down, and it’s hotter than sin inside the vehicle, because the damn thing is almost old enough to drink and doesn’t have working A/C. When she reaches for the gear shifter to put the car in first, he captures her hand in his own and kisses her knuckles, and she shakes him off with a sharp, ringing laugh. “Are you going to be like this for all of the two weeks you’re here?” 

Settling back into the seat and sticking his hand out the window to feel the familiar, hot wash of air flowing through his fingertips, he answers with his own warm smile, something soft at the edges as he watches her profile. The long nose, the jut of her chin, the glass-blue of her eyes flicking from the road, to the mirrors, to him, like she can’t quite believe he’s there next to her in person. “You’ll be so sick of me being in your pocket by the end of it,” Bettino promises her, reaching across the center console and tucking her hair behind her ear. 

She flashes him another impish smile, all teeth, before turning her attention back to the road. “Probably, but I’ll try to hand you back in one piece anyway.”

His hand settles on the bare skin of her thigh-- she’s wearing shorts. Her skin is unfathomably soft under the rough pads of his fingers. The seats of her car are black leather, and the vehicle is a million degrees. Bettino thinks, affectionately, that she might be an insane person. “I can only hope you don’t, my love.”


End file.
